


So Far From Home

by Soapbubblesoul



Category: EXO (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Space, Angst, Flowers, Fluff, Home, Homesickness, Longing, Lost in space - Freeform, M/M, New Planets, Science Fiction, Wormholes, Yixing-centric
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-08
Updated: 2018-06-08
Packaged: 2019-05-19 13:00:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,888
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14874219
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Soapbubblesoul/pseuds/Soapbubblesoul
Summary: It's as simple as a flower.Or perhaps it's as complicated as a flower.





	So Far From Home

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Fanxing day 06/07~

The liquid in Yixing's glass is glinting amber, swirling in slow motions according to the way he circles his hand. Yixing had never been much of a whiskey drinker. It had been too sharp, too burning, but he's grown to appreciate the facsimile of whiskey.

He takes just a tiny sip, doesn't even think of drowning the liquid in one shot like he used to witness his colleagues do when they went out drinking after hours. The burn spreads down his throat slowly, leaving an all too familiar burn in its wake. Yixing closes his eyes, exhales slowly as he savours the sensation, trying to hold onto it for as long as he can.

Yixing had been told countless times that he should live more in the present. Yixing wasn't the type to be hung up over the past, his gaze only facing forwards and never back. Living in the future, only caring about where his actions of today would take him tomorrow—that's how Yixing had spent his days.

A small, humourless laugh gets stuck in Yixing's throat when he remembers how adamant he had been on living in the future, not caring about the present. Yixing washes it down with another sip of whiskey.

The burn feels like _home_.

___

There aren't many things Yixing misses. He is well cared for, better than he would have expected. The work he does is mindless, but it keeps his hands busy and his stomach full, so Yixing doesn't really mind if he spends the majority of his day screwing metal parts together. At least it gives him time to think. Which, sometimes, is a good thing and, sometimes, is not. In over a year, he has turned the numbers upside down, has scouted the debris that used to be the emergency pod dozens of times. He's sure he could pinpoint the exact location of every pebble inside, every speck of dust inside it with closed eyes. Yet nothing has proven of any use.

He still doesn't quite know what happened. His memories are fuzzy, and twisted, and they don't all make sense. It's as if someone has placed a transparent veil over the day when it happened, but the veil doesn't stay in place, it moves and changes it's consistency, so Yixing never has a chance at getting a clear picture.

His theory is that is must have been a wormhole. It's really the only thing he can think of. The instruments might have stopped working—some broken beyond mending, other's having all their circuits melted into one big blob of unusable metal—but when Yixing finally found a civilisation, he also found out about the planet he had stranded on. Or rather he had found out that he had absolutely no clue where he was, that he had never heard of either the planet nor the solar system, and that told him that he was far from home.

Very, _very_ far from home.

___

The translator crackles slightly, and if it were a year earlier, Yixing would have feared that it was about to conk out any second. Now, he only gives it a gentle slap and watches as the lines on the display straighten out.

" _Have you discovered something new?"_

Yixing looks up from the letters on the display, to take in his conversation partner's expression.

"What makes you think so?"

The device on the table whirrs as it translates Yixing's words into the script indigenous to this planet. Conversations like this are slow, but Yixing has learned to adapt. He has developed more patience than he thought he was capable of, but he's also putting in a lot of hard work towards studying the language. Shallow everyday conversations pose little problem anymore, but he knows that for these conversations he will want to have all the vocabulary available that his native tongue offers him.

" _You seem to be in a good mood today."_

"I do?"

" _You do. You're smiling. I haven't seen you smile in a while. Have you found a lead on how to make it back?"_

There is genuine interest in the other's features, but his eyes hold a melancholy that doesn't quite fit with the hopefulness the other is projecting.

"It's not that," Yixing replies.

On another day, the mention of his unsuccessful attempts of making it back home might have dampened his spirits, but right then he doesn't allow his thoughts to stray into that territory. The present, he reminds himself, that's where he has to live now, now that he's potentially light years from home. Or else he's going to go mad.

"No, actually I found flowers today."

" _Flowers?_ "

Yixing's smile deepens as he sees the other's confused expression. Knowing that his words will never manage to convey the beauty of what he's seen that morning, he pulls out the sleek display out of his pocket. It gives one chirp as it comes alive, and with clumsy fingers Yixing navigates through the menu. This is part of the planet's technology he struggles with most, but his conversation partner doesn't hurry him. He waits patiently as Yixing procures the 3D data.

"I told you about them, the other day. I saw them in a greenhouse, right outside the city when I was delivering parts to a factory next to it this morning. They were so beautiful."

He lets out a small noise of success when he finally manages to find the right file, and seconds later a white tulip is floating a few centimetres above the table's surface.

In awe, the other brings his fingers up and moves the projection around to inspect the plant from every possible angle. His mouth is hanging slightly open in awe.

" _It is beautiful indeed._ "

___

"Do you miss him?"

The voice is scratchy, and the tones are all off, but Yixing still understands what the other is saying. He doesn't manage to tear his gaze from his phone's lockscreen, even as he opens his mouth to reply. It's only been a few days since he finally managed to find a way to repair its battery and charge it again.

"I do," he says. "Every day."

He doesn't even realise that he's crying until he feels soft fingers touching his cheeks, gently padding away the wetness there.

"I'm sorry."

"It's not your fault," Yixing whispers, but the smile he casts the other must look a lot sadder than it does look reassuring.

 _It's not your fault I lost him, it's not your fault I lost them all, none of that is your fault so you don't need to feel sorry,_ is what he means, but he doesn't know how to say it. The words are easy enough, but the feeling is too complex.

He has good days, when he actually can attempt to divulge what's going on inside him, but this day is not one of them. Seeing those features again, those strong eyebrows, the high cheekbones and the gentle eyes he had given up hope on ever seeing again—it's a bit too much.

Yixing has never had a lot of close friends, but he's infinitely grateful to have one with him when the smile falls from his face, washed away by the tears that take its place. He might have managed to repair his phone, but that doesn't bring him one step closer to returning. It might feel like a small victory, but as Yixing's breath is hitching he wonders if he just gave himself a new device to torture himself with.

___

Ever since he opened his eyes to a vegetation he didn't know, a number of moons in the sky that he had never seen before, Yixing has been having good days and he has been having bad days.

Good days have him full of optimism, and energy to work all the data he has at hand. On these days, he can turn numbers around all day, and look at samples from every possible and impossible angle. Or he's just strolling over the market, or letting his feet take him wherever they want, or he has his nose stuck into books about learning the language he keeps hearing around him.

The bad days, however, are him holed up in his room, the three steps to the kitchen corner to prepare food already too much. The only thing he's capable of doing on these days is looking at his phone, watching the smile he doesn't think he'll ever see in real life again.

He still remembers the day when they first met, how nervous he had been, how awestruck when the older student actually approached him first. He remembers all the stolen glances and "accidental" touches, and the spark that used to run between them. He remembers microwaved food tasting like a five-star meal when he could steal it from the other's plate.

And he feels the farthest from home he ever has.

___

" _Do you want to talk about it?"_  

Yixing looks at the letters longer than he should. Today would have been their anniversary day. Or at least his phone's calendar claims that it is the date, but Yixing can't be sure with how much of a beating the device has taken. It's not as if it matters much, after all.

Yixing has a new life now, and he can't imagine he is waiting for Yixing. Surely he's been told that Yixing died in an unforeseen accident on mission. It's not the truth, but Yixing still wishes that that's what he's been told, so that he has a chance at moving on after grieving. A lie might be a lot easier than the truth, that his team most likely doesn't know what happened to Yixing. Or that they know but they can't come get him. It's the only reasonable explanation as for why he's still here, stranded after two years.

It's been two years, since he was pulled out of a pile of smoking debris and hauled to a medical facility and Yixing wonders how it's possible that he himself has not moved on at all.

"No, I do not," Yixing replies in a low voice, and takes a long sip from his glass.

The liquid is not amber, this time, it's a bright green colour. This is not meant to be savoured, this is supposed to numb. The other studies him with a scrutinising look, then grabs a bottle from behind the bar and wordlessly tops up Yixing's drink. With a grateful nod, Yixing lifts the glass and drowns it in one shot.

They stay there, drinking in companionable silence until Yixing isn't sure he's able to count his own fingers anymore, the room around him swimming with prismatic colours. There's a noise bubbling from his chest and he can't tell if he's laughing or crying.

The night ends with firm hands around his shoulders, holding him close and leading him steadily. Yixing leans into them and a sense of comfort, of security washes over him. He's definitely crying now, begging for a sense of closeness he hasn't felt in way too long. But even when they have reached the other's quarters, and Yixing is gently laid down on a plush bed, he only gets a warm blanket and a damp cloth dabbing away the tears on his cheeks.

He hears muttered words, but they're not Mandarin, and Yixing wishes he hadn't neglected his language studies so much, now that he had gotten an upgrade on his translator that made it work faster and more reliable. He wishes the other would repeat his words in Mandarin, but before he can even try to voice the request, sleep washes over him and drags him under.

__

"Where are you taking me?"

_"That's a secret."_

The other is leading him with firm, fast-paced steps, and Yixing has to hurry to keep up.

He has no idea where they're headed, but the other's smile was full of excitement when he picked Yixing up at his doorstep that morning, demanding to be followed. It's not often that the other is so full of anticipation, and Yixing finds the other's mood strangely infectious.

It's a bold move, and Yixing doesn't know what exactly is driving him, but when they're just rounding the corner to head to the city gate, he takes two fast steps forward and grabs the other's hand. He intertwines their fingers together, and when he feels the other's surprised look on him, he just smiles up at him.

He has been looking less at his phone. It's painful, but at the same time Yixing tells himself that the pain means he's healing. The missing isn't gone, but Yixing has accepted that he can't be hung up on his lost life forever. He has always lived in the future, his entire life, but the last few years he's been trapped in the past, and it's been eating him up from the inside.

And he just can't do that anymore. As much as he can no longer ignore that the friend who's been by his side since the beginning, who nursed him back to health and showed so much patience in teaching him the local customs, and has never turned his back to Yixing, might be more than a friend to him.

His skin is tingling where it meets the other's, and Yixing feels giddy for the first time in forever. No matter what's coming, he doesn't think it can be any more perfect than the other hand tightening around his as if it wants to make sure it will be able to hold Yixing close.

" _We're here."_

Yixing looks around him when they stop. They've left the outskirts of the city behind, production buildings rising left and right of them, blending in perfectly with the nature surrounding them.

"What am I supposed to be looking at?" Yixing asks, not knowing what exactly is so special about this place.

" _Close your eyes."_

Yixing casts the other a sceptical look, but he trusts him, so he does as he's told. When the other pulls his hand out of Yixing's hold, he feels a rush of cold loss wash over him. He doesn't have to wait long though, because just seconds later, a warm touch is stroking along his arm.

" _Open your eyes."_

Yixing has absolutely no idea what to expect, and he finds himself gaping when he sees what the other is holding out towards him.

It's a tulip, a single, white tulip.

"How- what- how did you...?"

He almost doesn't believe his eyes, but the other urges him to take a hold of the flower, as if to verify that it's real.

" _It took me forever, but I figured out how to grow one of them. Flowers make you happy, right? I hope this flower can make you happy."_

Yixing is absolutely speechless as he marvels at the tulip. It's delicate, soft, wonderful. It's perfect, the most perfect flower Yixing must have seen in all his life. When he lifts his gaze, the other is looking at him with an uncertain smile. Yixing's silence must have unsettled him a little.

" _Do you like it?"_

Yixing nods.

"I love it," he whispers in reverence.

"Thank you, Yifan."

___

It's as simple as a flower.

Or perhaps it's as complicated as a flower.

Growing a flower on this planet, especially one as perfect as the one Yixing was gifted takes time and resources and dedication. It's not an easy feat, not at all. It's not just sitting with Yixing and putting up with a shitty translator that's full of bugs, it's not letting Yixing drink for free at the bar, it's not carrying him home when he's had one too many. It's so much more, and every time Yixing sees the tulip in its vase on his windowsill, he's overwhelmed with affection.

He doesn't stop reading up on solar systems to figure out how far away from earth he is, and he still goes through his samples in hope of finding hints on possibly being able to open a wormhole himself that could bring him back.

But it's not an obsessive search anymore. And with every passing day, Yixing is less sure that if he were to find an answer, he would actually make use of it.

"Are you ready?"

"Just give me one more moment!"

"Yixing, the chrysandraes only bloom once every sun period. You were the one who said we have to go see them."

"Yes, yes, I'm ready, I'll be right there!" Yixing exclaims from the bed room, watching his own reflection in the mirror and making sure his hair looks presentable before he grabs his jacket, phone and rushes to put on his shoes.

"You look gorgeous," Yifan says in near perfect Mandarin as he takes Yixing's hand in his, and Yixing replies with a smile and a peck to Yifan's chest before dragging the other out of the door.

Yixing hasn't forgotten his old life, not one bit. He hasn't lost any of the affection held to his family, his friends, his previous boyfriend. He hasn't moved one bit closer to earth.

But holding Yifan's hand tightly in his while watching the chrysandraes reveal their fluorescent petals to the moonlight, he somehow doesn't feel that far away from home anymore.

**Author's Note:**

> I apologise for all the errors, this is unedited (I haven't even managed to read it back yet).  
> I really wanted to do something for Fanxing day, so I sat down and just started writing, and this is what happened. Somehow the beginning was still sensible, but then it got later and later and I think my brain just stopped cooperating so I don't really know myself, what exactly this is, but still, happy fanxing day, y'all!


End file.
